


the moon, the stars, and you

by eufoeria



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Friends With Benefits To Lovers, M/M, Mechanic Shiro (Voltron), Motorcycles, Veteran Shiro (Voltron), is that a thing?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 15:08:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15974873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eufoeria/pseuds/eufoeria
Summary: It was just business. In exchange for a little fun, Shiro would fix up Keith's bike for free.It wasn't supposed to go this far.





	the moon, the stars, and you

Shiro saw stars, but he blinked and they became the moon in Keith’s eyes. And then the light was gone. He lay flat on his back in bed while Keith swung his legs over the edge of the mattress. Keith was 23 and a dog person, according to his profile--not that that mattered when all he wanted was a quick fuck that Shiro was more than willing to provide.

“That was good,” Keith said. Shiro had noticed early on that night that he wasn’t the talkative sort. That was okay--Shiro wasn’t either, not since he moved back home at least. 

Keith had come over a few hours earlier that evening. It wasn’t a date, at least not technically, but Shiro had food prepared in the fridge, in case dinner was supposed to be involved in this sort of thing. Keith had dragged him straight to the bedroom after he arrived, not bothering with small talk or anything that wasn’t his skin on Shiro’s.

Keith was strong and warm and calloused in all the right places. His dark hair reached just past the nape of his neck, the perfect length to grab and pull. He was beautiful, though Shiro would never tell him that. Keith wasn’t the kind of man to take “beautiful” as a compliment.

“Wait,” Shiro panted. He was trying to catch his bearings in the dark, stuffy room. The smell of sex still hung in the air and Shiro thought it was at least marginally better than the usual stench of stale cigarettes. Across the room, Keith was already picking his clothes up off the floor.

“Will I see you again?” Shiro asked. He wasn’t sure if the question was appropriate. He didn’t do this very often--casual sex, that is, if that was even what it was. It had been a surprise to see the notification pop up on his phone. Matt had set up his profile so long ago, he’d forgotten it existed.

Keith--dark-fire, knife-sharp Keith--turned his lips up in what may have been a smile. Shiro’s eyes were getting heavy with sleep. “Maybe,” Keith said quietly, hesitating for a moment before approaching the bed. Shiro watched the way molten rays of moonshine played across his naked chest in the darkness. Keith sat down on the edge of the mattress and smoothed his hand along the planes of Shiro’s torso. “It depends. I have a bike that needs looking at…”

Shiro realized that Matt must have convinced him to put that he was a mechanic and motorcycle enthusiast on his profile. He quickly filled in for himself what the rest of Keith’s request must be.

“Yes,” he breathed. “Anytime.”

Keith smiled and patted his cheek. “Good boy.”

Shiro wasn’t stupid. As he watched Keith pad quietly around the room, he pondered what Keith must think of him. An easy mark, probably. Shiro pushed away the dark thoughts telling him this was something uglier, that sleeping with him was just a necessary evil for Keith to get his bike fixed. Still, when the tight feeling began to rise in Shiro’s throat, he tried to lay back down on the bed and close his eyes.

He heard Keith walk to the door, then stop.

“I’ll… call you?” Keith asked, as if this was all very new to him too. Perhaps it was.

“Just drop by with it when the shop’s open,” Shiro grunted, turning over.

Keith hesitated by the door frame for just a moment longer before Shiro heard the telltale click of the door shutting that signaled his departure. He let out a small breath into the night, then pushed himself out of bed.

He opened the window.

Keith’s rusted old truck backed slowly out of the dark, gravel driveway into the night. It wasn’t long before the roar of the engine faded into the distance, but Shiro didn’t return to bed, not yet at least. He instead fumbled around in his nightstand for the pack of Marlboro Reds.

Shiro’s memories of the war were mostly a haze, but he remembered standing around and smoking--at first he never joined, but after the first bombs went off, it seemed only natural. Those long, unnatural pauses in time, the interminable periods of mind-numbing boredom broken only by brief bursts of brilliant violence. That’s all war was. The rest--the strategy, the artillery--were just props. Like kids playing dress up.

He snuffed the cigarette out in the ashtray and climbed into bed, leaving the window open. The roar of the crickets outside drowned out any of Shiro’s other thoughts--about the war, about the past, about certain young men with tangled black hair--until they finally lulled him into a fitful sleep.

***

The next time Shiro and Keith met, it was the middle of the week and Shiro was on his back beneath an old rusted Chevy truck that was hardly worth fixing, only he knew Old Iverson couldn’t afford to replace it. He heard the approach first, both by the crunching of gravel under tires and Black’s loud meow.

He sat up and wiped the sweat and motor oil off his face, but he knew he looked a mess. Keith hopped out of the driver’s seat of a beat up old Ford. Shiro could see the bike in the bed of the truck, a plastic tarp haphazardly covering it. The tarp was tied together precariously with bungee cables in lieu of a proper cover. Keith, half-smiling, waved at him.

“Think you have time to look at her now?”

“Your bike is a ‘her?’” Shiro asked, pushing himself to his feet. He felt his tongue trip over the words like they were uneven cobblestones he was trying to traverse blindfolded. Talking to Keith wasn’t easy, not that Keith attempted to make it any easier.

“Aren’t most bikes a ‘she?’” Keith teased, popping open the tailgate and hopping up. “Keep any and all comments to yourself when you see her, okay?”

Shiro nodded and walked over to help him unload the bike. Keith pulled the tarp off to reveal an old, rusted Honda. With a trained eye, Shiro immediately took note of all the obvious cosmetic damage, dents and dings and paint scratches. It looked like Keith had put it through hell.

“I know you said comments to yourself, but are you sure you know how to drive this thing?” Shiro grunted as he took the bike in his arms, trying to shift the weight off of his prosthetic. Keith hurried to help him lower it to the ground.

“To be fair,” Keith panted, “most of those were there before I got her.”

When the bike was safely on the ground, they took a moment to breathe. After a few calming moments, Shiro lifted his head and began to wheel the bike into the garage. At least he had the fan going in there. He could feel the August heat beginning to buzz in the back of his head and tried to remember the last time he had water.

“So this is your garage, huh?” Keith asked, awkwardly stuffing his hands in his pockets and craning his neck to get a look around. It was neat to a fault, and Keith could tell immediately that Shiro had a military background. There was almost a sort of religious dedication to order, really. It contrasted with what Keith could see through the door to the office, which looked in danger of being flooded with paperwork.

“Don’t touch anything,” Shiro warned, “I’m going to get some water.”

Keith scoffed and muttered, “Like I’d break anything in here.”

Shiro gave him one last look before heading to the mini fridge he kept behind the counter in the “office space” his grandfather had set up back when he ran the shop. It wasn’t really an office so much as a dusty room the size of a parking space. Inside there was a desk buried beneath mountains of paperwork and a computer nearly as old as Shiro was. He grabbed a water bottle out of the mini fridge, hesitated, then grabbed one more.

Keith was turning a wrench over in his hands at the workbench when Shiro returned. He hadn’t noticed him yet, so Shiro called out, “I thought I told you not to touch anything.”

Keith jumped, then scowled at him. Shiro laughed and tossed him one of the bottles. It landed with a thunk in his hands, and Keith looked at it in surprise.

“It’s hot out,” Shiro explained. His hand went to rub the back of his neck and he hoped the slight flush on his face wasn’t too noticeable.

As Shiro turned to examine the bike, Keith fidgeted. “Er, well, should I… go?”

“You can stay if you want,” Shiro shrugged.

“Oh, well, oka--”

“Unless you have something you need to do.” Shiro turned to look at Keith with appraising eyes.

Keith tugged at a lock of black hair. “Oh, uh, not--not really.”

“Okay then.”

Keith leaned against the workbench and watched silently as Shiro began to run some diagnostics. Every now and again Keith would pipe up with a comment on what he thought might be wrong, but it was mostly an uncomfortable silence that was only punctuated by the sound of a deep meow.

“What the hell was that!?” Keith yelped, swinging his head around to try and identify the sound.

“That’s just the shop’s cat, Black,” Shiro grunted, wiping more sweat off his face. “She’s been hanging around the shop since before I was born. Don’t ask me how old she is because I have no clue.”

“No cat sounds like that,” Keith muttered, jumping again as he felt a soft, warm body bump up against his leg.

“Are you…  _ afraid _ of her?” Shiro asked incredulously. He looked at Keith again, trying to reconcile his mental image of the tough punk he presented himself as and a person who was afraid of old Black.

“I’m not  _ afraid _ ,” Keith growled, “but that is  _ not _ the sound a normal cat makes.”

Shiro shrugged. “Maybe it’s from years of breathing in car exhaust. I don’t know, I guess I don’t notice it anymore.”

“Well if you’re  _ sure _ it’s not part mountain lion or something,” Keith replied, eyeing Black warily as she yawned and stretched out over a tool box. “Are those--are those  _ fangs _ ?”

“I’m not too sure about anything regarding Black,” Shiro said. “My grandpa \--this was his shop-- said she just showed up one day out of the blue and she’s been here ever since.”

Keith huffed and looked away. “I guess I’m just not a cat person.”

“I can tell,” Shiro said teasingly. “You’re too impatient. You probably have a whole pack of dogs instead.”

“I have two, actually, Red and Kosmo.” Keith smiled proudly just thinking about them. “Both rescues, and I’m pretty sure Kosmo has some wolf in him.”

Shiro gave a quiet laugh. “Now there’s a scary thought.”

The silence between them settled into something a little more comfortable as Shiro tried starting the engine. He frowned as it stalled and quickly died. He tried a couple more times to no success and sighed. “This isn’t going to be a simple fix. It’ll probably take a week just to fix it, but the bike is old. Finding the parts to replace the broken ones is going to be the real challenge.”

Keith slid off the workbench and walked over to the bike. “So how much is all of this going to cost?”

“I thought you were paying me in sex,” Shiro said wryly.

“I--you thought--well, I was--” Keith sputtered in surprise, taking a step back from Shiro and the bike. “I mean, I didn’t know if you were serious.”

“I knew exactly what you were asking for the other night,” Shiro replied, smiling at Keith and crossing his arms over his chest. “And I’m fine with it, Keith, I really am. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Keith appeared to turn the thought over in his head before nodding enthusiastically. “It feels kinda wrong, even though I’m the one who suggested it, but I’m really fucking broke right now.”

Shiro laughed. “I’ll give you a list of parts to get, and once you bring them I can fix the bike for free. Until then, let’s just have some fun.”

“Yeah,” Keith nodded, “this could be fun.” He hesitated. “Should we… is now…?”

Shiro’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “It’s the middle of the day, Keith. How about later tonight? The shop closes at 7.”

“Perfect!” Keith fidgeted nervously and began to walk backwards out of the garage. “I’ll see you then!”

Shiro just smiled and waved. As soon as he was out of sight, Shiro sighed and turned back to the bike parked next to Iverson’s truck. Black meowed, twisting her way between his legs in what seemed like sympathy. He realized that if he wasn’t careful, a guy like Keith could eat him alive.

***

As promised, Keith returned later that evening, after the sun had gone down and the worst of the summer heat had died off. It was a quiet night like any other in that little backwater Southern town. Shiro answered the door in sweats and a tank top, his hair still wet from showering the engine grease off of him.

“You want a beer?” Shiro asked, walking toward the kitchen. 

“Sure.” Keith stopped to examine the small living area in a way he hadn’t done the last time it was here.

The room was old-fashioned, the kind of home you’d expect someone older to have. There was a fireplace in the corner and an old media cabinet, with an outdated TV set sitting in the middle. The couch was faded and brown, with a green armchair next to it. Yellowing, quaint wallpaper curled in on itself where it was peeling off the walls, and the floor looked like original hardwood. There was dust lining many of the surfaces, and there were pictures turned down on various shelves around the room. Keith glanced around to make sure Shiro was still in the kitchen before taking a peek at who was in the photographs.

He lifted up the nearest one to him and saw that it was one of those formal family portraits. In the photo stood a wrinkled old man, a young woman, and a child, about ten. He guessed from some of the familiar features that the young kid must be Shiro, though it was hard to tell. The Shiro he knew was all hard lines and a scar across the bridge of his nose testifying to the fact that his life had known violence--nothing like the innocent kid in the picture.

“I hope you like beer that tastes like piss,” Shiro said, walking out of the kitchen with two bottles, “because all I have is some PBR my buddy Matt left in the fridge last time he was here.”

Keith dropped the photograph and tried to look innocent. He could tell by the narrowing of Shiro’s eyes that it wasn’t a convincing performance, but he grabbed the can and threw himself on the couch before he could ask questions.

“PBR? Really?” Keith scoffed, opening the can.

“I think Matt’s tastes began and ended during his freshman year in college,” Shiro laughed. “I can’t say much though. I’m more of a cheap liquor guy myself.”

“Wow, you’re such a catch.” Keith rolled his eyes teasingly and downed a third of the can in one go. It tastes as terrible as he expected, but it helped take the edge off.

“So…” Shiro said slowly, “Should we at least pretend this is anything but business or get right to the point?”

Keith spluttered and coughed on a sip of beer. Shiro made move to pat his back, but Keith shrugged him off, throwing his head back and laughing like Shiro had just said the funniest thing in the world. Despite an outward tension and serious demeanor, Shiro was blunt and to the point. It was so honestly refreshing, Keith thought he ought to thank him for it.

“I’m fine with just talking,” Keith said. “Anything you want to ask me about?”

Shiro smiled like Keith had given him a gift and placed his beer on the coffee table. The coffee table itself was wooden and covered in water rings and little nicks where a child or someone had likely run into it over the years.

Shiro stared into the distance as if he were mulling something over. After a moment, he asked, “Did you really only message me because--” His eyes widened. “No, nevermind. Where did you get your bike?”

Keith furrowed his brow at the obvious redirection. He shrugged his shoulders. “Bought it off Craigslist. It had some work to be done, but it’s lasted me for a long while.”

“It looks well cared for.”

“Yeah,” Keith sighed. “She’s my baby. I’d be lost without her.”

Shiro went quiet at that. Keith took the time to look him over. He watched the way Shiro’s adam’s apple bobbed as he drank from the beer can and the way the muscles in his arms worked under his skin when he wiped his mouth.

“How long have you been fixing bikes?”

Shiro turned, surprised. “Huh?”

“Your arms,” Keith noted, pointing a finger at Shiro’s forearm, still hesitating in mid-air. “You have a mechanic’s arms. I figure you’ve been at this for a while.”

“Oh,” Shiro replied, tucking his arm back down by his side quickly. “I helped my grandpa even when I was a little kid, so you could say practically my whole life. I’ve only took over the shop full-time for the past year.”

Keith had a feeling there was more to the story, but let it go for the moment. Shiro sighed a little and struggled for a new topic of conversation. “How long have you been riding motorcycles?”

“Since I bought my first one,” Keith said proudly. “As soon as I was 18 I got a job in a warehouse and started saving up to buy one used.”

Shiro smiled. “Did someone else inspire you to get into bikes?”

Keith’s face darkened for just a moment before recovering. “...I just liked them.”

“I like them too,” Shiro said. His voice went soft, like he was talking about something delicate and sweet. “They’re like… freedom, but they don’t hide anything from you either. Cars feel like metal boxes to me, but on a bike… you can look down and see the pavement and that the only thing keeping you safe is your own ability.”

Keith watched the way Shiro’s metal hand played with the fingers of his flesh one. They twisted and squeezed as he talked, marking the gesture as a nervous habit. When he realized he was staring, he looked across the room back at the shelves with the turned down photographs.

“Did this house belong to your parents?” Keith blurted. He immediately regretted his actions when he saw Shiro flinch.

“Yes,” Shiro replied quietly. He did not elaborate. Instead, he asked, “Do you want another drink?”

Keith looked down and realized both beer cans were empty. When he looked back up, Shiro was staring back at him. Keith’s eyes were unwavering as he scooted closer on the couch, resting a hand on Shiro’s broad shoulder. He watched as Shiro’s eyes tracked the way his tongue darted out of his mouth and across his lower lip.

“I’m done drinking,” he said, voice low in the quiet darkness of the living room. “Are you?”

Shiro didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned forward and kissed him, tongue still bitter from the taste of the whiskey. Keith longed to lose himself in the kiss, but instead grabbed Shiro’s hand and pulled him to stand.

The house was quiet except for the sound of their feet on the staircase and their own hearts, thundering in their chests.

They don’t speak for a while after that.

When their energy was spent and all they could do was lie boneless on Shiro’s mattress until they catch their breath, Shiro pulled the pack of cigarettes out of the nightstand. He took two out and offered one to Keith.

“How do you know I smoke?” Keith asked, taking it.

“I can just tell,” Shiro replied. He pushed himself off the mattress and opened the window. “I bet you started because you thought it looked cool.”

Keith’s mouth dropped open in surprise before he turned his face away in a huff. “Whatever.”

Shiro laughed softly. He grabbed the lighter and the ashtray off the windowsill and brought them to the bed. The light of the flame was hypnotizing as he lit the ends of his and Keith’s cigarettes.

“Why did you start?” Keith asked, letting the smoke leave his lungs in a warm exhale.

Shiro took another drag and pulled a knee toward his chest. Keith noticed for the first time how terribly scarred he was. Angry pink lines stretched painfully across his muscles in a way that made him look as if he’d been torn apart and sewn together again. Keith turned away.

“I guess I was… bored,” Shiro said quietly.

“Bored?”

“Mhmm.” Shiro ran fingers through his hair. “Lots of guys picked up the habit once they were deployed to deal with the stress. The stress, well--it wasn’t fun.” Shiro drummed his fingers on his thigh and gazed thoughtfully at an unknown point across the room. “It wasn’t fun, but the boredom… that was the killer. That was what made people quit. Just… sitting around waiting for something,  _ anything _ to happen, but dreading whatever it was.”

Keith shuddered and sat up straighter on the bed. “Why did you join, then?”

Shiro turned and looked at him, surprised. “Why did I join? You mean why did I join the military?”

“Yeah.”

“You know,” Shiro said quietly, turning towards the window, “No one ever asked me that.”

Keith waited silently for him to continue as his cigarette burned down to the filter. He needed to get up and snuff it out, but he was trapped there, afraid to move and break some spell that had draped itself gently around that dark and quiet room.

Shiro sighed and reached for the ashtray. “I did it because I felt I had to. I--” He swallowed thickly. “I wanted to be a pilot in the Air Force, NASA eventually, but it just wasn’t possible. Bills had to be paid, college is expensive--it was much cheaper to just enlist after high school.”

Keith did know. Not about enlisting--he could never have suffered through self-important drill sergeants telling him what to do every hour of every day. But about impossible pipe dreams and disappointment? Keith was all too familiar with that.

Shiro snuffed out his cigarette and offered the tray to Keith, who gladly accepted. Keith stretched and pushed himself off the bed. He turned hesitantly to Shiro. “I guess… I should go now?”

“It’s probably for the best,” Shiro said, resting his head on his arms which were crossed over his knee.

Keith said nothing and began to gather his clothes. He could feel Shiro’s eyes on him, but he couldn’t meet them. When he had everything together, he paused in the doorway. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

Then he realized: he was waiting for Shiro to speak, but Shiro just looked at him expectantly, as if he had no idea what in the world Keith might want him to say. Keith grunted a goodbye and left before Shiro could see the way his face burned.

It was 3am when Keith made it home. Home--a loaded word. He supposed the little trailer parked on his uncle Kolivan’s property  _ was _ a sort of home to him now, but Keith’s experience was rather limited. Before he found Kolivan, it had mostly been Homes with a capital “H,” the kind you didn’t talk about in decent company.

Red and Kosmo burst through the door when he opened it, running circles around the yard as Keith placed his keys on the counter. The place was a mess--dog hair on every surface, dishes left in the sink, and a faint yellow color to the walls from years of cigarette smoke (only some of it his). He had very few personal items, to the extent that Kolivan joked that he took better care of Kosmo and Red than he did himself. Keith didn’t see what the big deal was. He’d gotten used to not having many personal effects long ago. 

He poured himself a strong drink and leaned against the counter. Whatever had happened back there in the darkness of Shiro’s room--it couldn’t happen again. It was just him wanting some validation that Shiro was hooked on him, on whatever their relationship was. Frustrating as it was that Shiro hadn’t given him that validation, it was nothing to get upset over.

Keith called the dogs back in and climbed into bed. He stared at the glowing screen of his phone and contemplated calling someone else over for a quickie, but decided against it when he stretched and felt the bone-deep ache in his muscles. Keith smirked at that. He jolted when he felt a wet nose against his arm.

“What’s wrong, buddy?” Keith asked, scratching Kosmo’s head. Kosmo whined and inched closer to him on the bed until he was practically laying on Keith’s chest. Red hopped up on the bed to join them and curled up against Keith’s side.

Keith laughed quietly and buried his face in Kosmo’s fur. He let the even breaths of his dogs drag him into a dreamless sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> im on twitter @mahouatsuko


End file.
